


(you've got that) electric feel

by botanicly



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Snafu, College, How does one tag lol, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, fluff but make it sexy, sledge's dog still dies sorry, very supportive sid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 03:59:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19099318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/botanicly/pseuds/botanicly
Summary: Eugene can think of a million other places he'd rather be than this clammy, congested dive bar. Snafu barges into his life and changes that.





	(you've got that) electric feel

**Author's Note:**

> Took a hiatus from the Pacific fandom about six years ago, now coming in hot with a fic. This is the first thing I've written that wasn't required by my education and I'm so pleased it features these two precious boys. I am not a writer by any stretch of the imagination, and this is most definitely un-betaed, so please let me know in the comments if there are any errors. Might fuck around and write a p0rny sequel if I can gather the courage lol.

For the fourth time this semester, Eugene finds himself keeping a watchful eye on his more-than-slightly intoxicated pal in a darkly lit, overcrowded dive bar. At Sid’s request and continued encouragement, he partakes in a few rounds of bomb shots throughout the night, barely managing to escape the beer bong circulating the floor. Beyond that, he nurses a single bottle of Bud until the golden liquid warms to an unpalatable temperature. 

Truth be told, after a week of grueling finals and a teary phone call from Mama Sledge informing him of his pup’s passing, there are an infinite number of places he’d rather be than here. But as Sid proclaims, he’s supposed to be either celebrating the end of his third year at Tulane or drowning out his sorrows of losing Deacon. And whatever perspective he takes should leave him with a marginally weaker liver by the next morning. Hangover included. 

Glancing around at the rowdy crowd, he wistfully wills the image into mind: curled up in bed, blankets wrapped around him in a comforting embrace. Bob Dylan resonating from his record player. Leather-bound journal on his lap and a pen in hand. Childhood memories with his dog manifesting on the crisp ivory pages, lest they be forgotten down the line.

“Cheer up, boo. Y’look like someone stole yer dog.”

Eugene’s torn from his reverie by the intrusive comment. He whips his head around, eyes narrowed and lips pursed in annoyance, a caustic response on the tip of his tongue. 

Something about the guy’s appearance gives him pause. Eugene takes in the dark bruises under sea green eyes, wide and weary, but breathtakingly beautiful nonetheless. A dark mop of unkempt curls sits atop his head, shrunken tee hugging his wiry frame, feet donned in sneakers that have seen better days. Busted knuckles, grasping a can of PBR, are hastily bandaged in gauze that probably should’ve been changed hours ago. A lazy smirk splits his angular face, eyes crinkling at the corners, and he’s clearly just joshing, no harm intended. 

“You don’t look so great yourself,” Eugene snorts, giving his new-found companion a conspicuous side-eye. He takes a sip from the bottle he’s nursing, grimaces at the taste before continuing. “And nobody stole him. He died.” _Asshole._

The guy freezes, evidently embarrassed by his previous indiscretion. He ducks his head, shuffles his feet a little awkwardly, lifts his uninjured fingers to rub across the bridge of his nose. 

A pregnant moment of silence passes.

“Sorry,” they blurt in unison, words tumbling over each other. 

Another pause. Eugene barks out a laugh, high-pitched and strained. A faint blush appears over the man’s tanned cheeks. He sighs as the tension drains from his shoulders, rubs a hand over his face.

“It’s just, it’s been a long week. Month.” Eugene waves his hand in the air, gesturing in lieu of further explanation. “I know you didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Here, let’s start over. I’m Eugene.” He holds out his hand in an offering of peace.

A warm, calloused hand grasps his own. Nice firm shake.

“Merriell. But you can call me Snafu. Only one who calls me Merriell is my mama.” 

Eugene mulls the name over in his mind as he leans back against the bar. _Snafu. Situation normal: all fucked up._ An acronym taught to him by his paw-paw who served in WWII. 

“Working hard to live up to your name, huh?” He tips his bottle towards the bloodied bandages and raises his eyebrows.

Snafu scowls at that, drains the contents of the can in his hand before answering. Eugene watches his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. 

“Caught my girl in bed with some dickhead,” he says, setting the empty can on the bar. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “She swore left an’ right they was just friends, that he was like a brother or some shit. I picked a fight with her front door on my way out.” His shoulders rise in a sheepish shrug, the corner of his lips tilting up slightly. “Seemed the best thing to do at the time.”

Eugene can’t help the chuckle that escapes his chest, but instantly feels a pang of guilt as the gravity of the situation sinks in. 

“Shit man, sorry to hear that. People can be real fuckin’ awful sometimes,” he murmurs, taking another sip of his lukewarm Bud. 

“S’all good, cher. ‘M nearly over it, or at least tryin’ to be,” Snafu drawls. He nudges Eugene’s ribs with his elbow. “Though I could use some extra help, if ya catch my drift.” 

Incredulously, Eugene twists around to face the other man. He’s greeted with a lewd smirk and half-lidded eyes raking over his body so salaciously that for a fleeting second, he fears his clothes have evaporated into thin air and he’s standing in this bar with his lily white ass bared to the world. 

“You got some nerve, pal.”

Snafu laughs. “I think you can handle me, boo,” he teases, throwing in a wink for good measure.

“You don’t even know me. And you—,“ Eugene huffs in exasperation, “Those wounds look a bit fresh for you to be making moves already, is all.”

“What can I say,” Snafu drawls, a lewd smile curling the corners of his mouth, “There’s something about ya that just makes me a lil’ reckless.”

Eugene snorts at that. “Somehow I think that’s just the way you are.”

But there’s no denying his attraction to the other man. Snafu’s handsome in an inexplicable way, the mysteriousness of it all the more alluring, and Eugene finds himself drawn in like a moth to a streetlight. He’s painfully reminded of the fact that he can count on one hand the number of times he’s done the dirty deed this semester. And as he distractedly admires the man’s prominent jugular and chiseled jawline, Snafu takes a step forward, voice pitched low.

“So, whad’ya say, wanna ditch this place with me?”

Snafu closes the distance between them, hands coming up to grip Eugene’s hips, groin against groin, fitting them together like two puzzle pieces. A thumb sneaks under the hem of his shirt, and the heat of Snafu’s calloused finger gently caressing his skin goes straight to his dick. The gaze pinning him down is absolutely predatory, their lips intoxicatingly close, and it takes Eugene a moment to find his voice.

“Not that I’m opposed to your proposition, but I came here with this bumbling fool—“

As if on cue, Sid staggers over, shit-eating grin a mile long. He pulls Eugene into a headlock, voice slurring drunkenly.

“Gene you talkin' shit ‘bout me?” 

Eugene chuckles, playfully shoves his friend away. “How’d you guess it? Always lookin’ out for ya, you helpless son of a bitch.” 

“Lucky you, tonight you’re off the hook. Ran into Mary just now, think I’ll finish the evening in her fine abode,” Sid waggles his eyebrows, then seems to notice Snafu for the first time. He takes in the crimson flush on Eugene’s cheeks, the proximity between the two men, and the shit-eating grin grows wider. “Though I gotta feeling you won’t be missin’ me much. I won’t keep y’all any longer. Text me tomorrow, Genie.” 

Sid disappears back into the crowd, but not before hollering over his shoulder an obnoxiously loud reminder to use protection.

“Looks like it’s all taken care of, boo,” Snafu says, his eyes twinkling in the light emitted by the neon signs and blatant desire radiating from his entire body. 

The fingers at Eugene’s hips move around to his spine, resting briefly at the small of his back before dipping lower to curve around the swell of his ass. His breath catches in his throat as Snafu squeezes the flesh in his palms. One hand draws back and comes down hard with a smack, and Eugene barely manages to feel abashed at the way his cock pulses in the confines of his jeans before his brain glitches from the arousal.

Eugene snaps and surges forward, slotting their lips together in a filthy kiss. It’s a frenzy of teeth and tongue, and when Snafu insinuates a hand between them to palm at his growing erection, he can’t help the breathy moan that escapes his mouth. 

“Yeah,” he gasps with finality, as they finally break for air, “Let’s get the hell outta here.”


End file.
